


Available Evidence

by anticyclone



Series: Selective Editing [1]
Category: Hidden Legacy Series - Ilona Andrews
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter during sex, College era fic, Drinking, Fist Fights, Friends With Benefits, Hiding Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Illusion magic makes fake IDs even easier, Love Bites, M/M, Tactile magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: When Augustine slunk back into his dorm room at nearly two in the morning, he should've known better than to assume he was alone. But he was tired, and sore, and had managed to forget that Connor didn't know how to mind his own damn business.Going to college is complicated. Going to college while sleeping with your best friend is complicated. Going to college, while sleeping with your best friend and trying to hide the evidence of a stupid bar fight - well. Augustine is having the worst Friday night, he really is.
Relationships: Augustine Montgomery/Connor "Mad" Rogan
Series: Selective Editing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648147
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Available Evidence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sadlikeknives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlikeknives/gifts).



Augustine felt a pull on his wrist and sighed. He put his pen down and covered his watch with his hand, which never did anything except communicate his displeasure. Connor could and did still tug at it, mostly to bother him, although he stopped now.

"I told you not to use telekinesis to get my attention. You know how to knock, I've seen you do it."

In the doorway, Connor raised his eyebrows. "I did knock. I also said your name," he said. He sounded just smug enough that he was probably telling the truth.

"Did you need me for something?"

"I don't know. Can you be torn away from…" Connor walked across the room and looked over Augustine's shoulder. Augustine could hear him frowning. "...Handwriting your essay?"

"I'm not finished, no."

"They've invented these things," Connor said, lowering his voice. He reached down and flipped Augustine's book closed. He couldn't see the despairing look Augustine shot at it. Or the way Augustine could feel the afternoon draining away, as Connor laid both his hands on the desk and leaned down to murmur into Augustine's ear. "Called computers. I think you even own one. You press these buttons with letters on them and it writes words on the screen. It's a lot faster."

Augustine had, a long time ago, gotten used to Connor doing this. Even before he'd started working out regularly, Connor had been broader than him. And while he seemed aware of and careful enough of his size not to habitually back other people into corners or casually cage them in against their desks (or doors, or high school lockers), that consideration appeared to fly out the window when it came to Augustine.

Not that Connor would ever own up to it. _I'm just standing here!_

"Writing my first drafts by hand helps me clarify my ideas. Just because your handwriting is terrible doesn't mean there's no value in it."

Connor kissed a spot behind Augustine's ear. Augustine watched his pen roll away from his paper and off the edge of his desk, which was just childish. Connor said, "My handwriting is not terrible."

"I told you I had to work today." Augustine shut his eyes when Connor moved and kissed the back of his neck. "If you're going to be difficult, can you at least - Thank you," he said, as the door swung shut. He didn't need his neighbors overhearing yet another petty disagreement. "Why are you here?"

"Because you stood me up last night."

Augustine frowned and raised his head to look at the calendar on the wall. Connor leaned back to avoid getting hit in the face.

"What? No, I said I was free on Thursday night. It's…" His voice drifted off. He shut his eyes again. "It's Friday. Today is Friday."

"Did you miss class?"

Augustine put both his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands. "Yes."

Connor laughed, because Connor was unsympathetic to his pain.

It was almost twelve-thirty. At least it being Friday meant he'd only missed one class. The professor appeared not to care about any of them as long as their assignments were ultimately turned in, which meant all he needed to do was come up with a halfway plausible explanation and borrow someone's notes and he should be fine. The larger concern was the previous night. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when on Thursday afternoon he had decided it was Wednesday. Sometime before he was supposed to meet Connor for drinks.

Both of Connor's hands settled on his neck. Augustine started to move his chair away from the desk, but Connor's hands squeezed his shoulders and held him still.

"You're tense as hell," Connor murmured. "This is what happens when you get so distracted you don't know what day it is."

His fingers started pressing gentle lines along Augustine's neck. It was suddenly difficult to think about going back to his essay.

"This would be more impressive if you hadn't stolen it from me," Augustine told him.

After Connor had come back from his little runaway escapade in high school, he'd been… different. In a lot of ways. But one in particular: He'd started touching Augustine a lot more. Small touches to his arms, or shoulders. Once, he'd gotten fed up at a party and grabbed Augustine's wrist to physically haul him out to his car, since apparently promising to be Augustine's ride had not extended to Augustine getting any say about when they left.

At the time, Augustine had kicked up a fuss. But the ride home had been when he'd started wondering about all the touching.

Eventually Augustine had decided to take a risk. Put his hand on Connor's shoulder, for once, and press his thumb into a knot in Connor's muscle. Which had gotten him an unexpected, _sure, whatever,_ and an even more unexpected groan after he'd worked a few of those knots out.

At the time, he'd been surprised when Connor had whirled around and shoved him against the mattress. In retrospect he should not have been.

Connor had few friends and was possessive of them.

Now Connor asked, "Did I steal this from you?"

Connor's magic swept across his chest. Augustine clutched his leg with one hand and found the other curling into a fist on his thigh. He breathed out, "No."

Connor kept placidly working warmth into Augustine's neck and shoulders with his hands. As if his magic wasn't trailing down Augustine's stomach, firmer and warmer than Connor's hands. He didn't laugh when Augustine's knee bumped his desk, but he probably smirked. His magic skated over Augustine's hips, glancing near-painful against his skin like quick, playful bites.

Augustine's spine already felt like it was starting to melt when Connor started really kneading at his neck. He pressed his lips together. Connor's magic teased against the small of his back before pressing in, hard.

The pressure was just shy of bursting. Augustine had to fight the urge to force his way out of the chair. He was almost painfully hard now and the ripples of heat from Connor's magic weren't helping. But the force of Connor's hands on his neck was still firm, so getting out of his chair would take either work or Connor's cooperation. And Connor was intent on teasing his magic along the inner curve of Augustine's thighs, now, so cooperation seemed far away.

"What are you planning? Doing this to me until you're satisfied?" he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice even.

A tendril of magic wrapped around his throat, a line of hot, gentle pressure that rose up his skin as Connor's thumb worked at a particularly tense point in his neck. Augustine carefully placed the tip of his tongue between his teeth to keep from moaning.

"I mean, I'd rather fuck you," Connor said, dryly. "Is that on the table?"

Augustine glanced at his calendar. His poor, sad calendar. He was breathing hard, and his nails were digging into his palms. "I'm supposed to be attending a poetry reading right now."

Connor snorted. His hands went briefly still and the magic let up against Augustine's throat. "Sorry to bore you."

"I'm just lamenting how much of my day has gone down the drain."

"I feel like," Connor said, "I could probably find someone to sleep with who doesn't call me the drain. If only your face wasn't so pretty."

Augustine rolled his eyes and uncurled his fist to reach back and push at Connor's hand. He turned the chair around when Connor took a step back to give him space. "I have an hour before I absolutely do need to leave. And I'll have to shower, and change, so in reality it's less than that."

"Are you putting me on the clock?" Connor asked, incredulous, but also not protesting when Augustine reached up and started undoing his belt. Augustine heard the door lock. At least that wasn't something he had to remind Connor about anymore.

"Some of us are busy."

"This is why I'm the only person who will sleep with you."

Augustine countered, "I don't sleep with anyone else _because_ I'm busy."

Connor slid a hand into Augustine's hair as Augustine pulled his belt loose. Augustine dropped it to the floor, and Connor flicked it into the corner with his telekinesis.

"Again, I feel like I could find someone who doesn't insult me."

Augustine pushed Connor's shirt up just enough to kiss his stomach. Connor's hand tightened in his hair. Augustine let Connor push his head down, a little. He kissed Connor's skin again and tilted his head so he could look up and make eye contact.

"Do you want to go find someone else now?"

"Shut up, Augustine."

They got out of their clothes. Eventually. Connor decided it would be a good idea to try to get Augustine's shirt off with telekinesis. Except he didn't bother telling Augustine that first, so the shirt ended up tangled on his arms and Connor got distracted laughing while Augustine thrashed and finished undressing himself on his own.

When he moved to unlatch his watch, Connor caught his wrist. "Leave it."

Augustine stared at him for a second.

"I'll warn you first," Connor said, sighing. He kissed Augustine's wrist, just under the metal band of the watch. "Leave it."

"Fine," Augustine said. He put his hands on Connor's shoulders and pushed him down, so he was sitting on the bed.

Connor grinned at him. "It's funny that you think you can actually push me around."

Ignoring him, Augustine sank down to his knees. He laid one hand on Connor's thigh and wrapped the other around the base of Connor's cock. Connor sucked in a breath. His magic glanced along Augustine's throat as Augustine bent forward and took Connor into his mouth.

The thing that Connor consistently forgot was that Augustine absolutely could push him around, given the correct leverage.

He ran his tongue around the head of Connor's cock and shut his eyes before closing his lips around Connor's shaft. When his hair shifted over his forehead, he felt Connor brushing it back. Augustine didn't mind leaning forward to take as much of Connor as he could, and he didn't mind moving his head back and forth, both because he very much liked the noises Connor made when he did, but he had put his foot down on Connor holding his head while he did this.

Besides, the light touch of Connor's fingertips against his cheek when he tilted his head suggested that his hand was shaking, and Augustine liked _that._

"Not sure you get what you look like while you do this."

Augustine stopped just long enough to say, "I am supremely aware of what I look like."

"Yeah, no," Connor said, letting his head fall back. A lick of magic hit the base of Augustine's spine and he jerked, startled. Connor took a deep breath and then his hands were on Augustine's arms, pulling him up and onto the bed.

Connor's magic hit Augustine's spine again. It felt a lot like Connor's hands putting him down on the bed, except that Connor's hands were on Augustine's arms and Augustine was lying on the bed on his own, Connor's mouth at his throat. Connor started grinding against him, his cock hard against Augustine's thigh.

At their side the dresser drawer, where Augustine kept a small bottle of lube, opened. Augustine failed to bite back a laugh. He paid for it with Connor going deliberately, agonizingly slow in working him open, his magic completely pulling away from Augustine's skin so all he had to concentrate on was the feel of the sheets against his back and Connor's hand inside him. The bottle went back into the drawer and Augustine busied himself with getting a tangled knot of bedsheet out from under his hip while Connor quickly put on a condom.

"I came by last night, after you didn't show," Connor told him. "You weren't here."

"Library," Augustine said. He swallowed and thrust his hips up as Connor eased his cock into him, which made Connor's hands tighten on Augustine's legs. "You could've simply called me."

"I did. It went to voicemail. Watch."

"Watch?" Augustine asked, panting. Fuck, Connor always felt so overwhelming at first, it wasn't fair, he should be used to this by now. He started to cover his eyes with his left hand and realized he couldn't lift it from the sheets.

Oh. Watch. His watch was still on his left wrist. His left wrist, which was pinned to the bed without any aid from Connor's hands. Augustine tested it again, but the pressure of Connor's telekinesis didn't vary. He felt himself flush. It wasn't as if - It wasn't as if Connor never held him down. That Augustine _was_ used to. But when it was Connor's hands, there was something for Augustine to press back against. Connor wasn't so strong that Augustine couldn't move in his grip.

Telekinesis, Augustine couldn't move against. He swallowed again. The full-body flush had deepened in his chest, to the point that it nearly felt like Connor's magic, insistent and harsh against his ribs. He was distressingly aware that it was just himself.

"I'm not into this thing where you hide your face while I fuck you," Connor said, pushing into him hard enough that the impact shuddered through Augustine's hips.

"I have another hand," Augustine pointed out.

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to let you go?"

Augustine looked up at the ceiling. The heat in his chest rolled. He said, "No."

Connor decided to reward him with the return of his magic, wrapped around Augustine's cock, so sudden and so light that Augustine cried out and tangled his free hand in the sheet. Connor's pace didn't vary. He kept up short, hard thrusts, angling himself and coiling his magic around Augustine's hips, until the pressure was so much Augustine couldn't take it anymore.

In the end he did twist his head and bury his face in the sheet when he came, messy, on Connor and himself. The heated tension in his chest barely loosened. Connor did slow down and let his magic go, which was fortunate, because Augustine had ended up overstimulated before and while Connor would enjoy that, he _did_ have things to do this afternoon. He was pretty sure he said Connor's name when he broke, but the bed muffled it.

He was sucking in gasps of air when he realized Connor had settled over him to start kissing his throat. Augustine wrapped his right arm around Connor's shoulders and tilted his chin up. Connor sucked lightly at his pulse point. Augustine flexed his left wrist, but the watch was still pinned in place.

"You are ridiculously controlling," he breathed out. Connor gave him a light warning bite for his trouble. Then a harder one when Augustine gasped at the first.

Hey.

Wait.

Augustine tangled his free hand in Connor's hair, which earned him an extremely pleased sound, at least until he yanked Connor's head back.

"Are you trying to give me a hickey?" Augustine demanded.

Connor grinned at him. "Yeah."

"I am not walking around for a week wasting magic on covering up a hickey!"

"Never suggested you cover it up."

Augustine let go of Connor, dropped his head to the pillow, and covered his eyes with his free hand. "When this is over," he said, calmly, "I am going to kill you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Let go of my watch," Augustine ordered. The pressure on his wrist immediately vanished. Connor gave him a creased, slightly worried look, and held still for a moment while Augustine looked at the watch face. He glanced up. "Look, you have time to either continue leaving an absurdly possessive mark on me, or you have time to finish, but I'm shortly going to need to shower and get dressed."

Connor stared at him. "Sorry. I'm on a timer?"

"I told you this before we started. Occasionally, it does help to pay attention to what I'm saying." Augustine linked both his hands behind Connor's neck while Connor began laughing softly. Then he shifted his weight and hooked a leg with Connor's, and Connor's eyes fell half-shut. Augustine tugged him down and kissed him.

In the end Connor kept kissing him, even after he came, and Augustine was still drifting in that heated-tension cloud, so he didn't notice how much time was passing until it was almost too late.

He had to make Connor get dressed and go shower in his own room so he could make his afternoon class on time. In the privacy of Augustine's bathroom, he briefly dropped his illusion. The fogged-up mirror reflected the beginnings of an impressive bruise on his throat.

As soon as he got a spare fifteen minutes, Connor was dead.

***

The reason Augustine had agreed to meet Connor on Thursday night and not Friday was that his Friday evening was already spoken for. So far he had spent his Friday night leaning up against a brick wall, reading an article on his phone and trying not to feel too chilled in the late autumn air. Inside would have been warmer. Inside would have also meant being constantly interrupted, and he did need to read this article by Monday morning.

"You're late," he said, as a hand connected with his arm. He didn't look up from his phone until he'd finished the sentence he'd been on.

Felix Miles, Significant Illusionist and senior member of the Arcana Club, grinned. He slung his arm around Augustine's shoulders and pulled him away from the wall. "You should know by now not to be early for everything."

"Hmm." Augustine let himself be pulled along the narrow sidewalk by the Arcana Club until they turned onto a main road, where the concrete widened. Then he gently extricated himself from Felix's grip by neatly twisting sideways to look at Felix as they walked. "I thought you would want to stay at the club tonight."

"We're going to Berrigan's."

Augustine frowned. "Berrigan's is a bar."

Felix smiled at him.

"They won't let me in the door," Augustine clarified, raising an eyebrow. "Unless you-"

Felix held up a hand. In it were two plastic cards. Augustine stepped off the sidewalk, into the grass, and Felix followed, pressing the fake IDs into his hand.

"I figured you could pick," he said, generously, leaning his shoulder up against a convenient tree.

"Hmm," Augustine said, again.

Earlier this semester, he'd successfully gained admission to the Arcana Club. That meant he no longer had to jump at the senior members' beck and call and his life was much easier. But when a Significant Illusionist asked to meet for the evening, he knew better than to say no.

Boston was a strange city. It had its domestic Houses, who battled for their own territory and prominence while facing a fresh-faced crop of mages at the beginning of each academic year. Mages who had often never lived away from family before. Mages who were riding high on admission to various universities and a significant percentage of whom were slamming up against the reality of independent life. Mages who, in short, were dangerous, reckless, and barely knew it. Boston Houses brought new definition to the word _ruthless._

Going to school here was like free diving with sharks. It would pay to have an amicable relationship with Felix Miles. It would make Augustine's life in Boston easier. Not easy, but easier.

Connor didn't get that. Connor thought that someone being annoying meant you could ignore them.

"The drinks at the club are fine, but I'm sick of wine," Felix said.

"I like wine," Augustine said. "What are the odds you'll introduce me to your printer?"

The IDs felt high-quality enough, but there were tricks to printing these things, and of course what would pass for the bartender at Berrigan's would not stand up for a second to a police check or any other kind of identity verification. It could be useful to have a local printer if any of the better documents in Augustine's dorm room didn't suit.

"Buy me something to drink other than wine and I might."

One of the cards showed a generic white man, an appropriate twenty-two years old instead of eighteen. The face was forgettable. A more difficult illusion than most people gave it credit for. Character was easy, bland took effort. The other card featured a white, blonde woman with green eyes. She was supposed to be a month past twenty-one. Her face was the same general shape as Augustine's.

Augustine handed the woman's card back. Felix tucked it into his jacket, sighing as Augustine studied the ID he'd kept and slowly faded his face into the one from the photo. He didn't bother changing his height. The man on the card was taller than him, but men lied about their height all the time.

"You won't always be able to take the easy way out," Felix told him.

"Changing almost nothing except the length of my hair and the width of my nose seems like the easy way out," Augustine countered. His own ID was stowed safely away in his coat, and the fake one tucked into his wallet. "If you wanted prettier company, you could have invited someone else."

Felix snorted. He bumped Augustine's shoulder with his own and began walking again. "Anyone ever tell you you're too serious, Montgomery?"

"Yes. I have a list."

"It is impossible to tell when you're joking. You do joke, don't you?"

"Only when I can't avoid it."

The bar barely glanced at either of their IDs, although of course Felix's was real. The menu had a terrible amount of gin on it. Felix insisted on ordering the first round. It meant Augustine was handed a drink with a terrible amount of gin in it. He started plotting what to order when it was his turn to pay.

He had no worries about being able to maintain his illusion when either tipsy or drunk. He did ask the server for a glass of water with their third round – Felix's turn to pay, and to pick more gin. Felix rolled his eyes, but Augustine was not interested in finding out his tolerance level for a night of drinking with no water. There were better things to learn.

"No offense," he said, smiling, aware that he wouldn't be saying this if he wasn't on his third drink, "but I'm sure mine are better than yours."

Felix grinned. "It's not just the quality of your illusions."

"The quality of my illusions is, and I am being modest here, excellent."

"Doesn't mean shit if your acting doesn't back it up."

"My acting is on par with my illusions."

"Sure."

He sunk down in his chair. They had gotten an appetizer delivered to the table, but in the spirit of overpriced appetizers it had been so much sliced meat and crackers on a plate. He was thinking about how to talk Felix into going somewhere with actual food, or at least back to the Arcana Club.

"You could simply tell me what you're leading up to," he said.

Felix winked, and by the time his eye was open again, he was wearing Connor's face.

"Ha," Augustine said without laughing. He grabbed his glass and polished off the last of his drink.

It was - It was a technically skillful illusion. The smirk was out of place, but when Augustine looked too long at his mouth, Felix dropped the expression for something more reserved. He raised both eyebrows in a not-terrible impression of Connor. And he settled back into the booth, stretching one arm out along the top of the bench, letting his legs sprawl out under the table to knock into Augustine's.

"How do I look?"

Augustine made a visible show of looking him over, and then said, dismissively, "You're over-exaggerating his arms. And the shirt is too tight."

Felix's laugh sounded nothing like Connor's.

His brain started tripping over itself. He shouldn't have drunk his second glass fast enough to be ordered a third. There had to be a reason Felix was doing this, other than a stupid argument about an agreed-upon fundamental of illusion magic. There had to be a reason Felix was doing this, other than him and Connor not getting along. There had to be a reason Felix was doing this that would not make Connor flip out.

Augustine might have to find it himself. He needed time for that.

"I think I want another drink. Do you want another-"

"Come on, Augustine. This is just some harmless fun. You're as good as you say you are, it won't be any trouble." He smiled the smile of a man secure in his position in the only Boston-based Illusionist House. He might not be a Prime, but his family had several. They both knew that Augustine's remaining years at school could be difficult and painful if the House decided that it was necessary. "Look, Michelle and Chelsea are in the corner. All I want is to see if you can fool them for one drink. But not this face. Too easy."

"Who," Augustine asked, clutching his empty glass instead of grinding his teeth, "would you like me to be?"

The smirk came back. "Me, of course."

_Ha._

"You can't stay Connor for that. There's no reason for the two of you to be out drinking together."

Unspoken: _Everyone knows you two hate each other._ Unspoken: _The actual fuck do you think you are doing, Felix._

Felix leaned forward. He drew the arm stretched out on the bench down, and set his elbow on the table. "I believe in your ability to pull this off, Montgomery."

So Augustine let out a breath and concentrated on being flawless in Felix Miles's skin.

He decided that Felix had picked Connor's face just to fuck with him. Felix wasn't the kind of person to make grand schemes.

It went well, at first. Imitating Felix was easy. He'd known the man for a couple of months now, and Felix had a definite character he played when he was flirting. The tricky part was that he didn't quite have Felix's body memorized. The face was easy. The arms? Felix jogged, which didn't lend itself to upper body muscle mass. But he had been flattering with Connor, who he didn't even like. Augustine ended up going a shade past where he normally would have, otherwise.

Felix seemed pleased.

Augustine had even started to relax by the time a student from another club showed up and punched him in the face for the crime of being Felix Miles. Something something "I told you not to show your face here again" something "You still owe me a thousand dollars" something blah blah something, fuck, that second punch glanced right across his mouth.

Felix - 'Connor' - laughed. And then whistled, appreciative, when Augustine lurched back to his feet and punched the stranger in the gut.

Connor wouldn't have whistled. Connor would have criticized Augustine for not following through properly while the man caught his arm and twisted it painfully behind his back.

"See, this is why you shouldn't gamble," Michelle said, unhelpfully, as Augustine got his ribs slammed into the back of a chair.

"I agree wholeheartedly," Felix said.

Augustine jabbed his free elbow into the man's gut, near enough where he'd hit him before that the man flinched. The man slammed him up against the bar, hard, and Augustine felt something - a random piece of metal? a rough spot of wood? - cut through his sleeve. Great. Now he was probably bleeding. This needed to end. Augustine struggled and managed to flip the man over his shoulder. In the background someone screamed, which he thought was excessive.

All of them, including Chelsea, who had been in the restroom the entire time and was very confused, got kicked out of the bar.

Once Michelle and Chelsea had peeled off, Felix dropped his illusion and flung his arm around Augustine's shoulders. The weight was heavy, the heat from Felix's body cloying in the cool autumn air. Augustine stubbornly left his magic up for several more steps. Let Felix look at himself with a bruised face and a split lip.

Except that just seemed to make Felix laugh. Exhaling, Augustine brought his own default face back up. Without the injuries. (Or the hickey.)

"I should get you to do all my fights," Felix said, cheerfully.

"I think I charge more than you can afford," Augustine replied, flat. "That was a courtesy sample."

Felix nudged Augustine across the road and didn't drop his arm until they'd crossed back onto campus. They were not walking in the direction of Augustine's dorm. They were walking through the edge of campus in the direction of the Arcana Club house. The last thing Augustine wanted to do was visit the Arcana Club.

"You'll have to show me how to throw a punch like that, anyway," Felix said. "Let's go back and get you fed."

Refusal would put him in an awkward position and require follow-up work he didn't want to deal with. Augustine said, "Excellent idea."

***

When Augustine slunk back into his dorm room at nearly two in the morning, he should've known better than to assume he was alone. But he was tired, and sore, and had managed to forget that Connor didn't know how to mind his own damn business. So he leaned against the door in the dark. He locked it behind his back and stood there, breathing.

It was tempting to keep his illusion locked in place. It would take effort to undo it.

But he did need to catalog his injuries and hiding them wasn't going to help. He flinched as his magic faded away.

Then he turned on the light and jumped, because he was, in fact, not alone.

"For fuck's sake, Connor!" he snapped, yanking his magic back into place. It took less than a second.

Connor was sitting on Augustine's narrow bed. He had not been sharpening a knife in the dark, but did look like a man who could've been.

There was a sharp pain in Augustine's left side that hadn't been there a moment ago. If Connor hadn't been on the bed, Augustine would've faceplanted onto it. He inhaled and rubbed a hand over his face.

When he dropped it, Connor had gotten to his feet. He made no noise as he moved. That wasn't creepy at all. He prowled across the room looking like some kind of - some kind of big prowling thing. Augustine was too tired to think of specific examples.

"I suppose asking you to leave while I shower is too big a request."

"Drop it."

Augustine let his eyes fall shut. He was so goddamn tired. Then Connor's hand was at his jaw, his touch careful. Augustine flinched back anyway. When he'd been slammed into that chair, his face had hit the bar, and there was a bruise on his jawline. Nevermind the cut on his lip or the truly spectacular stripe of a bruise just under his eye. He was lucky the damn thing hadn't started swelling shut.

Connor said again, his voice quiet, "Drop it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Now." Connor crossed his arms over his chest.

Augustine gave him his best bored expression. It was a good one. He'd had years to work on it. Connor was clearly too worked up for it to be effective now, but Augustine had to try. All he wanted was for this to be over. He wanted to take a shower, go to sleep, and have it be a calm and unscheduled Saturday morning when he woke up. He wanted to finish reading that article from the comfort of his own bed.

"I would ask if anyone has ever told you that you're an entitled asshole, except I know I already have. Many times. Is there a number I have to hit before you begin listening to me? Tell me that I'm close."

"I saw bruises. Stop hiding and let me look."

"If you're planning on forcing me," Augustine said, "I'd be interested to see what you think would work."

Connor cast his eyes up at the ceiling.

On the desk, Augustine's thankfully empty water bottle split horizontally in half. The top half fell to the desk and knocked over the bottom half. Both of them rolled off the edge to the floor in opposite directions.

"Oh, that's mature. You are buying me a new one, and you had better make sure it's the same kind," Augustine said. He had _liked_ that water bottle. "Look, I'm tired. What I need is a hot shower. Which I'd rather take without you here, thanks."

"I know what I saw," Connor ground out.

Augustine let his voice drop. Allowed genuine exhaustion to seep into it. "You were sitting in the dark. You couldn't have seen anything in the moment the light came on."

Connor stared at him for a long moment. Augustine glanced down and noted that his hand, the one he'd touched to Augustine's face, had curled into a fist at his side. Augustine looked back up and sank disapproval into his eyes until the room felt several degrees cooler from it.

"I don't turn my magic off, Connor. You know that. There's nothing to see. Why are you even here?"

He didn't bother asking how Connor had gotten past the locked door. That seemed like a small point, and what was Augustine going to do, build a trap into his dorm room?

Connor hesitated, but explained, reluctantly. He had to realize that there wasn't a good lie for why he was here so late. "I heard Felix was bragging about fighting off somebody he owed money to. Your calendar had Felix's name on it tonight."

God. Fuck Felix for being too stupid not to brag about winning a fight he hadn't even been in, that he deserved to have lost if he had. Fuck him for bragging in the middle of the Arcana Club, probably when Augustine had been in the bathroom washing his face. The Arcana Club was the one place that the news would almost immediately make its way to Connor, so of course he had.

Fuck himself, too, for writing Felix's name on his calendar in the first place. He was going to use code from now on.

"I'm going to take a shower," Augustine said.

Then he turned and measuredly walked to the bathroom. He did not slam the door. That would be sulking, and Augustine Montgomery did not sulk.

***

"You keep a change of clothes in your bathroom," Connor said, exasperated. "Of course you do."

"Only a paranoid maniac would do that."

Augustine ran a small towel back and forth over his hair. What he actually wanted to do was lie down and let it air dry, because the cool water was the only thing keeping him from visibly grimacing in pain, but Connor was still here. Sitting on the bed, too, which meant Augustine couldn't even lie down with dry hair. He briefly buried his face in the damp towel before lowering it enough to uncover his eyes.

Connor was frowning at him. Again. "You _are_ a paranoid maniac. Also, dressed."

"The clothes could be an illusion," Augustine said.

Connor stared at him. There was a slight red tinge to his face. Someone who hadn't been looking at that face since high school wouldn't have noticed it. But by now Connor's face was familiar as his own. He noticed.

He threw the towel at Connor. Connor's magic caught it in mid-air before it even made it halfway across the room. 

Augustine said, "Please. Do you honestly think I'm naked?"

The towel fell to the floor.

"No," Connor muttered.

"I'm sure you think you don't sound at all disappointed."

Connor leaned back so his head went _thunk_ against the wall. "You're unbearable."

"I would be less unbearable if you were, and I'm just spinning ideas here, in your own room." He didn't wait for Connor to reply to that because he knew it would only mean talking in circles for even longer than they already had. "May I at least have a seat on my bed?"

Begrudgingly, Connor moved over. Away from the wall.

"A real friend would not make me climb over him to sit down. You can't think I'm grievously injured."

He hauled himself onto the end of the bed and crawled up the mattress as gracefully as doing such a thing could be done. His arm protested. His head protested - he should have been drinking more water. Ugh. Just as Augustine turned around, Connor stretched his arm along the headboard, so he didn't realize what was happening until his back was resting against the pillows and Connor's arm was around his shoulders.

"Subtle."

"You're the one who cares about being subtle."

Connor curled his hand over Augustine's arm, and Augustine held still while Connor kissed the corner of his mouth. He held still, too, while Connor made a frustrated noise and buried his face in Augustine's neck.

Augustine let him sulk like that for five seconds before declaring, "You're only doing this to confirm I am actually wearing clothes."

"Did I say unbearable? I meant impossible," Connor said, without lifting his head. 

In any other circumstance… Or some other circumstances. At least in one other circumstance, Augustine was sure, he'd be reassured to think Connor cared this much. It would be nice to think that Connor would stir to righteous fury over the simple suggestion of Augustine being injured. It would be comforting.

Now, it was just inconvenient.

"How dead do I need to make Felix?"

"Connor."

Connor slid his hand down from Augustine's shoulder to his hip. Augustine braced himself to be pulled into Connor's lap, which Connor was far too fond of doing, but nothing happened. Connor just held him.

"Felix is an idiot. He thinks because he can keep a straight face, he's good at cards, and he's not. He bets with money he doesn't have and is so cocky dragging out payment that anybody he owes ends up pissed about it. You're a smarter, more powerful version of him, which is why he's trying to get everything he can out of being older than you and higher up in the club you're obsessed with."

"I hate you," Augustine said, without any heat to it.

Connor ignored him. "How dead do I need to make him, Augustine?"

"I know what you're doing."

Connor sighed.

"You think that if you convince me you actually will murder a member of House Miles, I will stop using my magic so you can busy yourself with fretting over my injuries."

"You admit you are injured."

"My imaginary injuries," Augustine corrected. "We had a few drinks. I went back to the Arcana Club after, sat on Felix's couch, and ate his food. If he needed to be dead, do you think I would have done that?"

"If it helped you figure out a way to kill him without being caught, yes."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

Connor gave him a tight smile. "Really? It usually gets me laid."

"I cannot imagine how has the past half hour has given you the impression that you might get to have sex tonight."

Heat prickled at the base of Augustine's spine. He felt himself turn red. Connor smirked, probably enjoying the empathic feedback from pooling his magic at the small of Augustine's back. It felt briefly like the firm press of Connor's hand before dissolving into gentler wisps of heat. Like so much steam.

"Connor." He meant to put his hand down on the bed, but found it connecting with Connor's leg instead.

"I like it when you say my name," Connor murmured. He kissed Augustine's jaw and let a rush of magic sweep down past Augustine's hips.

Augustine made the mistake of turning to look at him. Connor leaned up and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. 

And since underneath the illusion Augustine's lip was still split, he flinched.

The light touch of Connor's magic vanished. He jerked back. "What?"

"Nothing," Augustine said, wincing. He bit back a groan and pressed his hand to his mouth. Waited for his lip to stop throbbing. It didn't.

"Your lip's cut."

Augustine dropped his hand.

"Don't," Connor warned him. His eyes were cold. "What did Felix do to you?"

"I would really prefer not to do this."

Connor glanced down at his mouth. He swept his thumb across Augustine's shoulder. He looked back up, and his eyes were less cold. His expression had melted. "Okay."

"…Really?"

"Yeah." Connor leaned over and brushed his lips over Augustine's temple. His arm squeezed Augustine's shoulders. Connor always ran hot, but Augustine didn't feel it now. "You don't want to talk about it. We won't talk about it."

"You have literally never given in on anything this fast before."

"Now you complain that I'm giving you what you want," Connor said. He glanced at Augustine's mouth again.

A small alarm rang at the back of Augustine's head. This made no sense. Connor didn't do this. Connor didn't drop arguments just because Augustine asked, although Augustine always had to ask. This wasn't how things went.

Why…

"Are you spending the night?" Augustine asked, slowly.

Connor half-smiled at him. "You told me to leave. I'll leave. Let you sleep." He paused and pulled Augustine up against his side. "Breakfast?"

What he wanted to do was sleep through breakfast. What he wanted to do was let Connor walk out the door and pretend that he wouldn't be leaving to go find Felix Miles.

"I asked you to leave it alone, Connor."

"And I said I'd stop talking about it."

"It will make things extremely difficult for me if you do not drop this," he said. "It will make things difficult for _you._ I understand you don't think it matters what the Boston Houses think of you, but it does."

"I will handle it," Connor said, quiet but firm. "Do you want to meet for breakfast or not?"

"I want you to tell me you aren't going to go fight Felix."

Sighing, Connor let his head hit the wall again. "Augustine. Your lip is cut. That means someone punched you. Whatever you tried to tell me before, about seeing things in the dark? I know I saw bruises. That means someone punched you more than once. You don't want to explain, and that's fine. I get it, I'm not asking you to talk. Felix will fill me in."

"Yes, and then he will do his best to make your life miserable." Goddamnit, why did Connor not see this?

"I'm really not worried about that."

"You should be! You-" He stopped, abruptly, when there was a gentle tug of force on his watch.

Connor waited to make sure he wasn't going to speak again before putting his hand on Augustine's wrist, over the watch. "Felix," he said, "needs to be worried about what happens when you get hurt."

Augustine was not positive that Connor would never hurt him. The opposite, in fact. Connor would hurt him if it was necessary. If he had to do it to protect House Rogan - his mother. If Augustine was presenting an immediate public threat. if somehow hurting him was the most expedient way to protect him, although both of them acted like that wasn't a thing that might ever happen. Both of them knew that was how the world worked. Augustine knew that if it came down to it, Connor would act with whatever he considered appropriate force.

And he would probably sound this calm about it.

This was the worst Friday Augustine had ever had.

Revealing only his injuries would take work. It wasn't like scraping away a layer of paint. It was like unraveling a section of fabric and leaving it intact enough to weave it back together, later. It would take concentration. He'd have to maintain that concentration. Wavering would mean his illusion would reset itself to baseline. Remind Connor that he'd never intended to reveal his injuries in the first place.

So, instead, Augustine let his illusion fade. Completely.

"Felix didn't do anything to me," he said into Connor's stunned silence. He smiled even though it made his lip hurt worse than Connor kissing him. "I'm the one who got into a fight."

Connor blinked.

"A man took a swing at me. I suppose Felix did owe him money, and he took exception to that. But he wasn't a particularly good fighter. I punched him in the ribs. Also, I threw him over my shoulder."

Connor continued staring at him. Augustine had the feeling he didn't know his mouth was open. Either he was impressed - and Augustine had the dismayed feeling that Connor was not impressed - or he was struggling to process even a scrap of this information, in conjunction with Augustine's actual face. And his injuries.

"You got into a fight," Connor said, eventually.

"You should see the other guy."

Connor choked.

"Everything's fine." Augustine made that dismissive wave again. "I-"

"If you threw him over your shoulder," Connor interrupted, frowning, "that means you let him get behind you."

"I was in a confined space. I didn't have a lot of choices."

Connor gave him a look.

"Yes, yes. Next time I'm in a fight I'll strive to make Connor-Rogan-approved choices."

"There shouldn't be a next time." Connor reached up and gingerly touched his thumb to Augustine's lip. Light. Not enough to make the pain flare back. "You should've ducked. Did you take anything?"

"An ibuprofen." He shrugged at Connor's expression. "I didn't want to be light-headed."

"In front of me," Connor said. He dropped his hand. "Are you going to tell me how this turned into Felix bragging about winning a fight?"

"Connor, you've met Felix. By tomorrow I won't even have been in the bar and he'll have permanently scared off this unlucky gambler." Which would hopefully dovetail with whatever it was Felix would actually be telling people in the morning. Probably that he sent the other man to the hospital. Felix was the kind of stupid that thought a story like that would be impressive, instead of alarming.

"The bar?" Connor cocked his head.

Augustine sighed. "I'll show you the fake ID tomorrow. I don't want to get up now."

They sat there.

Augustine felt the moment Connor noticed the cut on his arm, because it made him tense up again before he ran a finger underneath the swollen, bruised strip of skin. He didn't say anything, though. He just got up and walked to the bathroom.

It was an opportunity to pull one of the pillows behind his back. Augustine slid down and pulled his blanket up over his legs. It made him feel slightly pathetic. He was slightly pathetic, at the moment.

First aid kit in hand, Connor returned to the bed. It was a small white box Augustine had bought in Houston. In it were slightly nicer painkillers than ibuprofen, although Connor had the grace not to try to coax him into taking one. Instead he just pulled out an alcohol wipe and brushed it over the cut on Augustine's arm. It stung, and Augustine had to turn his face to the wall. He held still while Connor put a clean bandage over the cut.

"Are you going to say anything about my face?" Augustine asked.

Connor made a small sound. When Augustine glanced over, he was sorting through the tightly-packed kit for something. He wasn't looking at Augustine.

"I feel like an asshole for leaving that mark on your throat now."

"If you want to feel like an asshole about something, it should be my water bottle."

"I will buy you a new one." Connor finally found what he was looking for. He pulled out a flat plastic package, squeezed it, and shook it. "Do you want me to find a washcloth to put under this?"

"No."

Augustine reluctantly pressed the instant cold pack to his face. The bruise under his eye hurt worse than the one on his jaw, but he didn't want to cover up one of his eyes to use it there. At least not right now. The cold did help.

Connor watched him. "You don't look different to me," he finally said.

Augustine gave up and covered his eye with the cold pack. Connor touched his wrist, but he didn't move it. The pack blocked his view as Connor kept speaking.

"The color of your hair or the exact shape of your face are small things. Your eyes are the same. The way you're looking at me is the same."

"My eyes are not the same," Augustine muttered.

Connor let out half a laugh.

Reluctantly, Augustine lowered the cold pack. Connor didn't look amused, or pitying. He looked mildly embarrassed. The red tinge was back to his face. Maybe he realized how absurd he was being.

Without his magic, Augustine had dark blond hair. His face was rounder. Softer, younger-looking. More vulnerable. There was a scar just past his hairline, a small white line as long as his thumbnail, from an ambush attack his family had suffered when he was a child. When he'd been his parents' only child. And his eyes were not pure green, like they were when his illusion was up. Normally he hid the brown ring around his pupil.

Connor bent forward and brushed his lips over the uninjured corner of Augustine's mouth.

"You're looking at me the same way you always do," he repeated. "Come here."

Which was how Augustine ended up in Connor's lap after all. Connor closed the first aid kit, set it aside, and slipped his arm around Augustine's middle. He tugged, gentle, until Augustine relaxed a fraction. In a second his back was pressed up against Connor's chest and both of Connor's arms were around him.

"Do I need to worry about you picking a fight with Felix?" Augustine asked. Since it didn't matter, now, he moved the cold pack back to his eye. The morning was going to suck.

"Let me check your bruises again in a couple days," Connor said.

"That is not an answer to my question."

Connor groaned. "Fine. I will not pick a fight with Felix."

"You also won't goad him into picking a fight with you."

"Unbearable," Connor said, kissing a spot behind his ear. "I will not goad Felix into picking a fight with me. I will not follow him around campus. I will not sit and stare menacingly at him in the dining hall. I will not appear behind him in the basement of the library and-"

"Please shut up." Augustine shifted his weight so he could rest the back of his head against Connor's chest. "I actually am exhausted."

"Five more minutes with the cold pack."

By then, the pack was a room-temperature compress, anyway. It went into the trash. Connor turned the light out as Augustine laid down. When he got into the narrow bed behind him, he'd taken off his shirt, and he lay a bare arm across Augustine's stomach to pull Augustine tight to his chest.

Augustine decided not to protest. It was the only way they'd both fit on the bed, anyway.

Two days later he stepped out of the shower to find a new water bottle on his desk. Same as the last.

 _This thing where you break into my room is less charming than you seem to think,_ Augustine texted.

Connor didn't text back for eighteen minutes, and when he did, all he had to say for himself was _You're welcome._


End file.
